Ascension: Revelation
by Framework2010
Summary: The world of Formula One, the highest strata of Motorsport, is one of brutality and inequity, of ruthless competition, where only the best of the best can survive and endure. This is the unlikely story of a Japanese street racer, overcoming all odds and demolishing all conventions, in his pursuit of absolute speed.
1. Prologue

"_And suddenly I realized that I was no longer driving the car consciously. I was driving it by a kind of instinct, only I was in a different dimension."_

_-Ayrton Senna _

**Prologue**

"It's a beautiful afternoon here in Monte Carlo, with the qualifying session winding down. It appears car number 16, Williams, is preparing for a quick lap. Williams, after Maldonado's suspension after last week's race incident, have promoted test driver Takumi Fujiwara to a race seat…"

The race commentator shifted uncomfortably, as he often did when presented with the prospect of commentating over a back marker's qualifying lap. Williams was once a dominant force in Formula One, but had gradually descended into mediocrity and obscurity over the past decade. Though the team had somehow managed to miraculously survive Q2, the commentator, along with the rest of the paddock, was inclined to ignore Williams and focus on the increasingly acrimonious Championship fight between Ferrari, McLaren, and Red Bull. Vacillating slightly, the commentator sighed and shifted his eyes to the live feed.

"There's Fujiwara, speeding towards the first corner. Two minutes left in Q3, which means that this is the last lap for Williams to gain any positions. Two hundred kilometers an hour through Massenet, braking hard for Casino, currently two-tenths seconds quicker than Alonso through sector one…"

The commentator paused, slightly embarrassed at his uncharacteristic mistake. Pushing up his glasses, he glanced at the timesheets again to confirm that, indeed, he had made an error, and that the Williams was plodding along in tenth, where it ought to be.

"I apologize, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that the Williams is not on pace to take pole position, but is rather…a whole second quicker the current provisional pole holder?

He was sure that his eyes hadn't fooled him this time. This was no mistake; the Williams was on its way to pole. Suddenly, the commentator straightened himself out, his blood humming, anticipating an extraordinary performance from the rookie driver and his washed up team.

"Fujiwara putting in a cracking performance, out-pacing the provisional pole holder, Fernando Alonso, in both sectors one and two. Flying through the tunnel, and…oh my God…Fujiwara just darted through the chicane, carrying an incredible amount of speed into Tabac, keeping the throttle down, the Williams effectively scraping the wall on the exit and…dear God, he's bloody insane!"

Struggling for propriety, the commentator plastered his face to the monitors. Never in his fifteen years in this career had he seen such raw and ruthless speed. Suddenly conscious that he had stopped talking from awe, he scrambled for the microphone.

"The Williams well on its way to not only pole position, but also the lap record. Fujiwara now approaching Rascasse…and he's made a mistake, entering that corner far too quickly, and will have to brake at an uncomfortable point, he's not braking, he's going to cra…SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS! He's drifting! Fujiwara has drifted through Rascasse, without losing any speed! In all my years on this job, I've never seen anything like it! Fujiwara, in the number 16 Williams, knocking Fernando Alonso off pole with a 1:12.3 second lap time, over two seconds quicker! What an absolutely incredible lap! Takumi Fujiwara, on pole position for tomorrow afternoon's annual Monaco Grand Prix, on his debut race in Formula One.

The commentator drifted off, sat back into his chair, struggling to breathe, struggling to comprehend the incredulity of it all. Wiping his damp palms on the back of his shirt, he switched the channel back to the trackside reporter. He faintly heard the boisterous cheers and celebrations from the pit lane, presumably from the Williams team. Dazed, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered out loud.

"Who the bloody hell was that guy?"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It was a cold and blustery November night. The sun softly faded over the barren branches of ubiquitous trees, gently bathing wind-swept piles of fallen leaves in dying light. The mountain passes were deserted, utterly abandoned by all who had even a marginal respect for the fragility of life. An unbroken silence blanketed the hills, broken only by the incessant howling of the wind, and a peculiar symphony of enraged engines.

Ryosuke Takahashi glanced out of the passenger window of the Toyota Hiace. The ubiquitous spectators were nowhere to be seen, presumably deterred by the forbidding weather. He frowned. There was no doubt that the driving conditions tonight would be challenging, if not downright dangerous. Visibility was effectively non-existent. High wind-speeds and pools of vegetation served as volatile variables in already dynamic circumstances.

Rising above all else, however, was Project D's opponent for this race.

Perturbed, Ryosuke looked back at the two cars in front. Despite appearances, Project D had begun stagnating. Both drivers had only evolved marginally for a disconcertingly long period of time, and the areas in which they did improve were generally mundane. Perhaps that was what had driven him into such an uncharacteristically asinine decision; pitting his amateur drivers against such a ruthless monster of road and track.

_Soichiro Kawamoto. _Ryosuke leaned back into his seat, once again attempting to gauge the capabilities of the opponent and his car. _Triple JGTC Champion, notorious for his ruthlessness and employment of psychological warfare on the track. Noted to possess a refined, cerebral driving technique with a callous disregard for propriety or safety in his obsessive pursuit of speed. Currently drives a Toyota MR2 TRD2000GT, modified with an unrestricted GT300 spec 3S-GTE outputting close to 450 wheel horsepower, as well as an underbody aerodynamic augmentation for the purposes of inducing ground effects, massively improving grip._

Ryosuke sighed. The combination of Kawamoto and the bespoke SW20 effectively constituted an invincible opponent, at least in considering the present capabilities of both his drivers. Yet his trepidation concealed his earnest, desperate hope for the realization of Project D's primary objective in this final race before the onset of winter; the hope that presenting his drivers with statistically impossible odds of victory would extricate them from their state of ibidem and awaken their latent abilities through the idiosyncratic pressures of street racing.

_That objective, _Ryousuke reflected, _formed the foundation for the ethos of D. _It would serve as the culmination of his theories on speed, his observation of the general stagnation in skill among circuit-trained drivers, even among F1 drivers, those occupying the highest strata of motorsport. It was his hypothesis that speed could not be segregated between amateurs and professionals, between circuits and streets, and that absolute speed was entirely transcendental. Moreover, the inherent eccentricity of racing on a course completely inadequate for the purpose, he believed, would effectively force an adequately gifted driver to constantly adapt, adjust, and eventually evolve, potentially surpassing even the greatest of the conventionally-trained drivers.

"We're here, Ryosuke." Fumihiro's weary voice drew Ryosuke out of his contemplations. Hesitating slightly, Fumihiro decided to broach the issue with his team principal. "The drivers and mechanics still don't know who's going up against the SW20 tonight. Have you settled on your choice yet?"

"Not yet. I'll announce it after we introduce ourselves."

"Alright, I understand." Seeing it as a cue to leave, Fumihiro started for the white SW20 only to be stopped, much to his surprise, by Ryosuke himself.

"Wait. I'd like to meet our opponent for tonight. Allow me to handle it this time."

"Of course." Fumihiro blinked, perplexed as his boss moved towards a slight, bespectacled, middle aged man. In a futile attempt to calm his nerves, Fumihiro sat down and warmed his hands.

Approaching Kawamoto, Ryosuke immediately understood why this underwhelming man had won three JGTC titles on the trot. As with all highly talented drivers, Kawamoto possessed a powerful aura, one he shared with his car. Falteringly, Ryosuke offered his hand.

"My name is Ryosuke Takahashi. It is an honor to meet you, sir."

The man glanced at the outstretched hand disparagingly, almost with an air of hostility. Finally, his visage softened and shook Ryosuke's hand as he breathed out.

"Soichiro Kawamoto. A pleasure." Turning his gaze away from Ryosuke to the parked convoy, his eyes shifted from suspicion to curiosity. "That's a pretty peculiar set up for a street racing team."

"As our outfit is purely expeditionary, our current configuration is optimized to meet our peculiar necessities."

"I notice you have two cars, a RX-7 and an AE86." Kawamoto pushed up his glasses. "I'm assuming that those two are your primary racing vehicles."

"They are."

"An AE86." Furrowing his brow, Kawamoto turned back to Ryosuke. "I hope you won't insult me with that relic of a car."

That remark having been met with silence, Kawamoto sighed. "I suppose if he's made it this far, he must be at least competent." Struggling to conceal his disappointment, he turned back to his vehicle. "You've already mentioned to me that your drivers will abide my preferences. I don't have any particular requests, only that we start parallel to each other, so that only one round is required to finish this race. As you already probably know, this course contains both uphill and downhill segments. Any objections?"

"None. Thank you very much for your accommodations."

Kawamoto began walking towards his SW20. He paused slightly, before he delivered a final warning to Ryosuke.

"Best of luck to your driver." Kawamoto said in a voice that made Ryosuke shudder. "He'll need it."

The SW20 started with a terrible racket, the air interspersed with the rabid pops and crackles associated with the brutality of a race engine. For a brief moment, Ryosuke froze in terror of the aura surrounding Kawamoto's SW20. Willing his legs to move, Ryosuke waveringly trudged back to his team.

_Maybe I should go with the FD for this one. _Ryosuke frantically considered his options. _Kawamoto is far more dangerous than I originally calculated. The logical choice would to opt for power and sophistication. Keisuke wouldn't win, but at least he wouldn't be humiliated. Fujiwara on the other hand…_

Ryosuke forcibly extracted himself from the ravenous abyss of irrational panic. _Think…think. The last time you found yourself in a similar predicament, how did you resolve it?_

The answer came to him at once. Approaching his two drivers, he once again rejected reason for the sake of reason.

"Fujiwara, you'll be representing us for the race tonight."

* * *

There had been the expected commotion, the futile pleas by Keisuke, Nakamura, and Fumihiro to reconsider, the various appeals to logic and common sense, a palpable desperation to salvage any hope from this hopeless imbroglio. Yet Ryosuke stood firm, and the team knew that any further petitions would be in vain.

As such, it was Takumi who climbed into his ancient and comically obsolescent vehicle to take the place beside the menacing SW20. An almost tangible tension pervaded the air, as Fumihiro prepared to start the countdown. It was during this brief respite that Takumi could at least attempt to understand the magnitude of his hurdle and formulate any corresponding strategies to neutralize the threat.

Takumi sighed. _I can't do anything until I've observed his speed. _Pulling alongside the MR2, Takumi realized that the pervasive sense of trepidation he felt since his last race arose not from fear or excitement, but rather from weariness and an incoherent resentment of his circumstances. _Racing for eight months straight takes its toll, I suppose. _Takumi pondered.

Fumihiro completed the countdown, and the two cars sped off. Almost immediately, the difference in pace was palpable. Takumi silently swore as the MR2 launched into the lead.

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. _Suddenly recognizing the danger of racing such an opponent with such listlessness, Takumi forced himself to focus. The MR2 annihilated the first complex of corners with an inscrutable recklessness that left no margin for error, at a speed that Takumi was simply unable to match.

Curve after curve, corner after corner, straight after straight. As the trees melted into an inscrutable blur, the inhospitable wailing of the wind assumed a new veneer of savagery, mercilessly buffeting the unwelcome intrusions into its sacrosanct domain. _The car's becoming more difficult to control, _Takumi grimaced. _It must be the ancient aerodynamics of my car. I'm getting thrown all over the place._

Suddenly, the tires of the AE86 broke loose of their own accord, inducing the car to understeer towards a guardrail. Takumi violently wrenched the wheel to correct the understeer, as car and driver narrowly cleared the turn.

_Shit. _Drenched in sweat, Takumi glanced forward. The taillights of the SW20 were now but specks in the distance. Clenching his teeth, Takumi assessed his situation. _I'm losing speed in the corners, and I can't keep up on the straights. His line is faultless, while I'm floundering by pushing my car too hard. _Takumi temporarily eased on the throttle as the cruel reality became apparent.

_I…can't win._

The gap grew greater and greater, as the AE86, with its rudimentary suspension, brakes, and aerodynamics, slid and wallowed through the corners. Never had Takumi been confronted before by such a consummate opponent. By good fortune, all of his previous adversaries had been undermined by some factor that he had been able to exploit, whether it was technique, equipment, miscalculation, or hubris.

_Not him. _Takumi glared bitterly at the rapidly vanishing SW20 ahead of him. As Takumi was about to convince himself to ease off on the throttle and throw in the towel, he experienced nothing short of a revelation.

_I just maintained all my speed through that bend. How the hell did I do that?_

Recalling his precise inputs during that single short span of time, Takumi attempted to replicate the same circumstances at the next corner.

_What the hell did I just do? _Takumi wondered. Dissecting the precise events of the previous complex of turns, Takumi realized that he had inadvertently eliminated a significant proportion of superfluous deceleration.

_I wasn't concentrating at that first corner, so I missed what I originally thought to be the optimal braking point. Then, as my car appeared to turn into the guardrail, I somehow made a bunch of adjustments so that I found a new racing line and a new apex. _Takumi sucked in his breath, excited again. _I've been wasting a lot of time hinging my corner speed on my drifting. The "grip" guys have also been wasting time devoting all their concentration on preserving traction. The solution, and the only way I can beat this guy, is by dissecting every friggin' corner to minimize loss of speed._

The AE86 roared through the mountain pass, the suspension and the chassis groaning under the stresses of the new pace. Takumi winced in discomfort, understanding fully well what his new technique would inflict upon his car. _Please endure it, old friend. Please understand._

The cliffs disintegrated, the roads decomposed, even the blur of the trees and the evanescent forces of the wind; everything faded away before Takumi's senses but this superlative racing line. It suddenly occurred to him that he was no longer driving consciously. Disturbed, he instinctively withdrew to safer ground just as the taillights of the SW20 became visible again.

Smiling, Takumi exclaimed out loud. The doubts and caprice of the past couple of months were sliding away.

"I can win."

**Author's Note: Though this is not my first fanfic, I must admit that it has been a while since I've been actively writing. Also, I'm still relatively inexperienced in this field (the only other experience I have is with an unfinished NGE fanfic from nearly two years ago), so please excuse any errors or ineptitude on my part. I'd also highly appreciate any constructive criticism or feedback. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Kawamoto glanced coldly at the gradually intensifying glare of headlights in his rear view mirror. Somehow, somewhere, that fossil of a car managed to pick up an astounding amount of speed, and was closing the gap at an alarming rate. Kawamoto tensed. He knew his racing line was perfect, and while more inexperienced drivers would've attributed the disparity in pace to car performance, Kawamoto knew, regardless of the upgrades and modifications made to the AE86, that his SW20 was still superior in nearly every aspect.

Kawamoto decided to eye his mirrors one last time, to confirm his suspicions that the driver he'd subconsciously disparaged had achieved a higher level of understanding in the middle of the race. Stunned, Kawamoto struggled to restore his calm.

The AE86 had launched out of the corner, twitching the back end into a drift which catapulted the car only millimeters away from the guardrail. It then stormed over the apex of the next corner on a wholly unorthodox line, maintaining a speed of over 100 km/h.

In an instant, Kawamoto realized the gravity of his miscalculation. He had seen this type of driving before when he was a young boy, then again during his nascent years in motorsport. He had aspired to that level of driving, dreamed of it, obsessed over it. Then, as the years went by, he realized that he possessed neither the requisite talent for it, nor the obdurate determination that was necessary for it. He found that his existing faculties were more than adequate to propel him to the front of his field, and he tried to forget the vivid impressions of the violently elegant lines and the brutally fluid inputs that were the hallmarks of his two idols; the consummate Jim Clark and the supreme Ayrton Senna. He never expected to see that transcendent driving ever again in his lifetime.

Yet here it was, replicated flawlessly by some young hotshot in a positively venerable heap of junk on a desolate mountain road. Kawamoto felt his heart beat faster. His hands were cold and clammy. He understood that, unexpectedly, this race had become apogee of his expedition. It would highlight the contrasts between what he had attained and what he had pursued.

The two cars were now separated by only a hair's length, flying through the steep downhill section. The high-pitched roar of the AE86 reverberated with the burbles and whistles of the turbocharged SW20, interrupted only by the agonized screeching of the tires. The wind picked up, pelting the cars with dead leaves, branches and debris.

_All my life, _Kawamoto reflected. _All my life, I've trained and watched and admired, hoping that I would reap the dividends and validate my struggle. When I failed, I felt bitter, and I abandoned racing, raised a family, consoled myself by annihilating those presumptuous amateurs on these mountain passes. Now that I'm old and aged, I've been provided with an opportunity at redemption. A chance for me to race with everything I have, so I can move on from the disappointments and failures of my life._

Kawamoto steeled himself, and pressed hard on the accelerator pedal.

* * *

"Jesus!"

Takumi grimaced as the elusive SW20 picked up its pace yet again. Never before in a race had he been so concerned for the mechanical integrity of his car. Then again, never before had he been forced to push this hard, nor endure for this long. In focusing on preserving as much inertial force through the corners as possible, Takumi was subjecting himself to significant lateral g-forces, and started to lose concentration out of exhaustion.

_My neck feels as if it's about to snap. My limbs are bruised and battered._

_I can't take much more of this._

For a brief, fleeting moment, Takumi considered surrender. The idea of easing off on the throttle had never seemed more attractive. _Just let go. Then you can go home, have a nice, hot cup of tea, and sleep. You don't have to hang your ass over the edge, driving against this maniac…_

_No. Never._

Imbued with a newfound determination, Takumi finally discarded any remaining semblance of caution. He subconsciously projected an outline of the course in front of him, turned off the lights, and then buried his right foot in the accelerator pedal. The AE86 skidded across fallen foliage, deliberately sacrificing control for the possession of the faster line, while the SW20, furiously attempting to pull away, occupied the center of the road, obstructing any potential attacks from either the inside or the outside.

The two cars dove down a complex of hairpin corners into heavy fog. The headlights of the SW20 were blinded, leaving no visibility for either car. Without even the slightest margin for error, both cars slid through a long bend on full opposite lock.

Takumi soon began to experience a series of unnatural vibrations. _The suspension's starting to give way. I have to end this quickly. _As he braked for the next corner, the AE86 violently shuddered, as the brakes locked and the two front tires disappeared in two large puffs of smoke. _Brake fade and tire decompression? _Takumi silently cursed to himself as he threw the car recklessly around the turn.

The SW20 was also beginning to experience untenable mechanical stress. Such a battle of attrition at such high speeds was placing excessive loads on the aerodynamic components. Kawamoto could already hear the vicious battle of wrenching metal between the rear wing and the screws which bolted it to the car. It wouldn't be long before the wing separated and fatally destabilized the car.

The gradient, the fluctuating levels of grip on the road, the variable quality of the road, erratic environmental conditions; these factors were only progressively amplified as the cars deteriorated further. Suddenly, the rear tires of the SW20 broke loose as Kawamoto took the corner entry at too high of a speed. Bathed in sweat, he wrestled his fishtailing car into shape. Takumi, sensing an opportunity, quickly exploited the gap left by the oversteering SW20 to maneuver to the inside racing line of the penultimate bend of the course.

_Shit._ In desperation, Kawamoto jutted the nose of his car into the line of the AE86.

Takumi, instinctively, flicked the steering wheel and applied power, the AE86 raggedly sliding towards the guardrail, and then promptly accelerating past the rear of the SW20 on the outside line. The turbulence left by the wake of the AE86 disrupted the SW20's precarious balance, sending it into an irrecoverable spin. The AE86 dashed across the finish line, while the SW20 skidded to a standstill.

After the car had stopped, Kawamoto calmly extricated himself from his racing harness. He stepped out into the dying night, and gazed contemplatively towards the cosmos.

The race was over. Soichiro Kawamoto curved his lips in a slight smile as he lit a cigarette. Thinking aloud, he pondered upon the future of this borderline insane, enigmatic, yet indisputably brilliant young driver.

"Helluva driver," Kawamoto took another drag of his cigarette. "One helluva driver."

**Author's Note: Apologies for the belated update, as well as for the relatively shorter chapter. This part was pretty rushed, and is technically only two-thirds complete, but I figured after an absence of three weeks I should probably at least produce something. Anyways, Chapter 3 will probably be spliced with the leftovers of Chapter 2, and as always, constructive feedback is deeply appreciated. Thanks for all the support!**


End file.
